


Who Did This To You?

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Relationship, season two fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:52:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Written for the prompt: 'Who did this to you?'Set during S2. Silver's started his daily items and one of the crew wasn't happy about an update.





	Who Did This To You?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in last December. No idea why I didn't post it here before, but here it is now!

 

_"Who did this to you?"_

Silver winces at the anger in Flint’s words. He sits back on the stool, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Does it matter?”

“Does it  _matter_?” Flint snarls at him. “Are you fucking shitting me? Of course it matters. We have only just regained control of this ship and-”  
  
Silver licks his bloody lip and says in a measured tone. “We?”  
  
Flint steps back, half hesitant. “Well.”  
  
Silver gazes at him, waiting.

When Flint still doesn’t say anything further, he spits another mouthful into the bucket before him. Flint watches the mix of blood and spittle pooling in the water.

Silver sits back again, a trickle of blood lining the corner of his lower lip.

“Is there a  _we_ now then?” Silver squints up at him. “You told me quite clearly that *I* would have to find my own way back upon the crew, and *I* did. What difference does it make if there’s a few…disgruntled parties along the way?”

“It  _matters.”_  Flint tells him heatedly. ”Because the crew considers you and I joined at this particular point in time. You saw to that thanks to that little stunt on the beach, with your idiotic volunteering. And then you said I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

Silver wipes some more blood from his mouth. “Are you saying I was right?”

Flint hesitates, then. “Tell me who did this.”

“Why?”

The question puzzles Flint. “What do you mean, why?”

“What’s the point in telling you who it was?” Silver shrugs. “As you’ve said, we’ve only recently regained control of the ship. Why would you jeopardize that?”

He can’t help but notice Flint’s fingers curling into fists at his side, and watches curiously as Flint manages to control himself, letting his hands unlock and return to how they were.

“You’re right.”

The words are muttered so quietly Silver strains forward to make sure he heard correctly. He doesn’t ask Flint to repeat himself; he’s not sure he can handle that.

And yet Flint does so anyway.

“You’re right.” He sighs and turns his back to Silver, moving across the length of the cabin and back again, pacing restlessly. “But I can’t let them get away with this.”

“They’re not getting away with anything.” Silver says reasonably. “A member of the crew didn’t like the way they were portrayed in a daily item and made their opinion heard most effectively.” He winces slightly, touching his chest gingerly through his shirt. Flint catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. “And what of it? Tomorrow someone else will be irritated, the others will laugh and we will all be a day closer to returning to Nassau.”

“Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“You said it was nothing; show me then.” Flint’s eyes are clear and watchful, daring him to refuse.

With a sigh, Silver pushes himself to his feet. Slowly he pulls his shirt free of his breeches and draws it up over his head. The expanse of his chest and torso are revealed, mottled with bruises, new and fading, the blues and purples melding together.

Silver stands there, holding his shirt in his hands, waiting for Flint to speak.

Flint moves closer. Without speaking he studies the marks on Silver’s body, his eyes raking over the abused skin with frank assessment.

“Do you remember what you said that day in Eleanor’s office?”

“Which part exactly?” Silver asks warily. He remembers that entire conversation and he wants to know how Flint remembers it.

“Your low tolerance for pain.” Flint says almost absentmindedly, his eyes still on Silver’s body.

Silver sucks in a breath as Flint lifts a hand and touches one of the more painful looking bruises, lying along his left side. Flint’s fingers trace down the curve of his torso, and then up again, traveling almost aimlessly and yet there’s still purpose to the movements as Flint’s fingers slowly circle a nipple, and then lower, brushing along the curve of his hip.

“I remember.” Silver’s voice is strained faintly as Flint’s fingers run back and forth along the top of his breeches. “What of it?”

Flint ignores the question as he moves his hand lower still. “Do you remember what else you said?”

“That we might be friends by now?” Silver gazes up at him.

Flint smiles, his fingers stroking Silver lightly through the rough cloth. “Whatever form it takes, whatever it takes to secure that gold and return to Nassau with it…so right now I don’t know if there’s a  _we_ , or if friendship is a possibility between us or where the path ahead leads next.”

Silver’s breath draws tighter as Flint’s fingers stir him to arousal. He waits for Flint to simply slip his hand inside, but slowly he realizes that’s the point, Flint’s holding back, that he’s waiting to see what Silver will do in response.

Silver juts his hips faintly into that grasp and Flint’s satisfaction shows in the growing pressure of his hand.

“But the ship’s not at Nassau yet.” Flint murmurs. “And the gold is still on that beach. And if you want your share.”

“Of course I do.” Silver half gasps as Flint’s nails scrape along the swelling bulge of his cock, his eyelids half fluttering closed. “Don’t doubt that.”

“Then rest assured that I know what I’m doing when I ask…who did this to you?”

At that Silver’s eyes fly open and he stares at Flint. “Are you serious?”

Flint increases his grip and Silver’s knees nearly buckle.

“Lewis.” He stammers at last. “It was Lewis.”

Flint’s hand moves from base to tip, the full thickness of Silver’s shaft pressing completely against the front of his breeches. And then he takes his hand away and Silver bites his lip to keep from begging.

Then Flint undoes his breeches and without saying another word, he sinks to his knees and takes Silver in his mouth.

Silver does gasp then, his hands gripping at Flint’s shoulders as Flint finishes him off with torturously succinct sucks, his mouth bobbing in a steady, hungry motion. Silver’s head falls back and he moans, a low surrendering sound of unbearable pleasure that goes straight to Flint’s groin.

Flint swallows and sits back on his knees. He takes in the sight before him, Silver, with his breeches around his thighs, still shirtless, bruised and sated and still waiting, warily.

“Whatever comes next, you and I will have to face it.” Flint says, rising to his feet. He knows what he said, knows Silver heard it too. It’s a we in all but name. Practically there on the tip of his tongue, just like the lingering taste of Silver.


End file.
